Less Like Friends, More Than Lovers
by Princess Sammi
Summary: Imogen calls up an old flame.


**Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch**

 **A/N: I posted this on my tumblr - laceandpaperflowers91 - earlier this afternoon but now I've tidied it up so uploading here too. It is, admittedly, a little bit different to anything I have written before but I wanted to try something new.**

 **I've been re-watching Gossip Girl (for the millionth time!) and Chuck and Blair have always been my second OTP - I love the messed up game they seem to be constantly playing! I always loved how she brought out the lightness in him and he brought out her darkness,** **and wanted to try the same kind of thing with HB/Drill, in that they balance each other out; a sort of ying and yang, as typical RAinbow put it. :)**

* * *

 **Less Like Friends, More Than Lovers**

She downed the rest of her wine before picking up the phone, angrily punching in the number, her finger stabbing down on the rubber keypad. The amount of alcohol she had consumed was currently helping to fuel her bravado and, in her drunken stupor, she didn't stop to consider if what she was about to was in fact a good idea.

Or a bad one.

Still, it was too late now.

She subconsciously traced the rim of her glass with her finger as she waited and waited.

And waited.

She was about to give up, having all but convinced herself she was being deliberately ignored, when, all of a sudden, she heard a click as the receiver was picked up and a familiar – if a little tired sounding – voice rang out.

"Hello?"

The sharp and unwittingly sexy tones threw her completely off course, her planned speech going out the window as she frantically searched her brain for something to say before the woman put the phone down on her, not before chastising her for 'cold calling' at what was, admittedly, a ridiculous hour.

"Hello?"

"Don't you 'hello' me?"

 _'Great start! Way to go you drunken idiot!'_

"My apologies," the older woman quipped, time not having dulled that sharp wit of hers. The words were laced in that classic sarcasm, but there was just an edge of bitterness that was not quite hidden beneath the surface. "It is, after all, the customary greeting one tends to use when one answers the telephone!"

Silence.

"May I ask who's calling?"

 _ **1 - 0  
**_  
It was all part of the game they liked to play.

She knew fine well who was on the other end of the telephone – they both did. Her heart, despite her protests, doing flips at the voice she had not heard in so long.

She couldn't show it though.

She sighed, internally; she really didn't want a fight but two could play at this old game…

"It's Mrs Dubois."

 _ **1 -1  
**_  
She could practically hear the slap against the cheek of the witch as the words rolled off her tongue with practised ease. Despite herself, she allowed herself a small smile, knowing she had successfully riled her. Once again, they were tied.

 _'Don't rise to it, Constance.'  
_  
"You've been drinking."

 _ **2 - 1  
**_  
It was more of a statement and less of a question but, to the blonde, it felt more like an accusation, and it was one that she did not care for.

Just who did she think she was to judge?! How dare she?

Much in the same way alcohol had always brought out the more emotional side of the deputy head, it, in turn, had always had a tendency to bring out her nastier side. They really were like opposite sides of the same coin.

"Well, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black."

 _ **2- 2  
**_  
The sorceress flushed; a deep scarlet sweeping over her cheeks and standing out beneath the pale complexion. She wanted to forget that she had ever bowed down to her feelings and let her heart rule her head, uncharacteristically allowing herself to get so intoxicated that she had turned up at the blonde's room the night before her wedding and begged her not to marry the camp ranger. She wanted to forget the humiliation of that night. She wanted to forget about their entire relationship, scrub out everything, right down to the first – and last - aborted kiss, but she could not bring herself to do it. If she did, it would be like saying that the blonde had never existed; like they had never existed and, whether for good or for bad, they had.

She wasn't surprised when the blonde had chosen the ranger. If she had been in her position, then she would have done the same thing. It was true. Everything with the ranger had been lighter and simpler, whereas with them both, it had been a great love, but it was complicated. It was dark and intense; all-consuming.

It didn't matter what way the dice rolled, she was always going to lose…

"Are you still there?"

"Constance?"

"…Cece?" she finally asked, reverting to her old pet name for the witch.

Constance swallowed, slowly blinking back tears as she fought for the inner strength she needed to get through this conversation, partly lacking in the want to play this game anymore. She didn't have to do it; she could hang up right now. All she had to do was put the phone down.

Simple.

Or so it should have been.

When all was said and done, after everything that had happened, she couldn't bring herself to do it, just hearing that voice filled her with bittersweet memories. A fitting punishment as it tore her apart inside, yet ironically made her feel more alive than she had felt in years.

Maybe, just once, they could dispense with the games?

"How have you been, Imogen."

"Great," the blonde chirped, a little too eagerly. She was only too glad that the witch could not see through the phone (she hoped!) as she wiped the dried in mascara from underneath her eyes and topped her glass up again, "And yourself?"

"Oh, I'm fine."

The pair shared a slight laugh, both knowing full well that the witch was not fine but was never going to admit otherwise.

"I see you've not changed."

"Like you would want me to."

"And your – Serge…how's he?"

"Oh, he's great. I'm great…It's all great."

It sounded far from great but it wasn't her place to pry.

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Yes…"

Her eye fell on the documents that were littered across the table. This was the reason she had ended up calling. Constance had been the first person she had wanted to tell; she wasn't even sure why but she wanted her to know.

"Right, well…"

 _'Hang up, Imogen. Just hang up.'  
_  
"Actually, we're getting a divorce."

"Oh, I'm…sorry to hear that."

"No, you're not."

"You're right. I'm not."

It was the most honest either had been in years.

For a while, no one spoke. They had never been great at the whole talking thing - always less like friends but more than lovers.

"Anyway, it's getting late, so I should probably go now and leave you to it. I'm sure you've got essays to mark, potions to brew, world domination to plan," she couldn't resist adding the last part in as a joke, trying to ease the awkwardness.

The brunette wiped underneath her eyes, wiping away the loose tear that had strayed from her iron tight control. "Ssh, that's supposed to be our secret," she played along, her voice cracking ever so slightly, knowing that when she put the phone down, that would be the end.

"Imogen, if you ever want to talk or… well, you know where I am."

"Thanks, Constance. I appreciate that. Look after yourself."

"You too."

It wasn't hearts or flowers but it was a start. Maybe, in time, they would both find their way back to one another but, for now, it was what they both needed.


End file.
